A Grin As Wide As Texas
by 86753090227nb1
Summary: "The moment she laid eyes on him she knew she'd seen him before - only once in New York." Two years after bumping into him Scottie Bell is about to meet him again and begin what turns out to be an unlikely friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Anybody who's read any of my stories under my previous pen name "86753090227nb" should know I'm not one to write author notes; however, I just had to clear up a few things. One, my previous account had to be deleted due to technical errors with my email, and I know, I know: "what an original pen name." Thank you. Two, I'll definitely continue the stir I started before my account screwed up. And to those who are actually reading this, I'll be uploading a revised version of my only completed story: "The Small Reprieve and My Journey Through Purgatory."**

The moment she laid eyes on him she knew she'd seen him once before - in New York. The only night she'd spent in the city.

At twelve years old Scottie Bell was two hundred miles from her home in Michigan, resting against the cold metal of a cargo train. She'd left home thrice before; once to the Keys, Maine, and finally Galveston. She returned from her fourth escape two weeks later, and that was the only time that her mother laid a hand on her. She was gone for good the next night. Her mama blamed it on her father.

She spent a year on the run, boarding trains that carried her through the Southwest towards Montana. The first year alone was the most difficult; twice she was nearly overcome by men who were bumming on the same car as her, which resulted in narrow escapes by throwing herself off the side and into an uninhabited nowhere, following tracks to the next depot. When she reached Montana she found work on a ranch where she made little money, but was taught the basics of riding in a western saddle, mostly on quarter horses.

In August three ranch hands returned with roped wild horses of the plains; the same horses that evaded humanity for centuries after coming with the Spanish. The horses were a far cry from the boxy quarter horses she learned on, with elegant stature and a nimbleness by nature. She watched with envy when they came in, her idea a seedling planted in her mind. The next two months she was awake by midnight, standing next to a roan mare until four in the morning. By the time she disappeared the mare was her companion, tamed without whips and taking her into the wilderness underneath a moon-lit sky that stretched over empty plains.

The next three years were spent in the company of the mare, for all intents alone in a stolen saddle. She never knew what she was looking for. Only that it wasn't where she was in that particular moment, and that knowledge made her push on through the Dakotas North and South, Wyoming, and the Four Corner States. Every once in awhile she'd stumble upon a middle-of-nowhere town where she'd manage to buy a room for a night with the mare tied to a post out front or resting warily in a barn for her return. She always left the next morning.

Everywhere she went she was a spectacle to be studied; wild hair that had been washed in a creek or brook, or even lake, a couple nights before, and a suntanned face that scrutinized the company around her. This was the case when she found a place in outer New York that would hold the mare for a day while she took a train into the city.

She had boarded the subway after hitch hiking on cargo trains and being deposited at the nearest stop. Once she emerged from the underground she took in lights and traffic, blasts of civilization that made her tremble and want to retreat to a place where the sky expanded in all directions.

A man treated her to a broadway show that let out nearing dark. She'd promised him a restless night in return for the show, and escaped that fate by slipping out before the end and sprinting a few blocks away. It was clear from her outfit that she didn't belong, and had to sidestep eager men once the lights went up and the sky went a velvet black. She wandered into a bar, hoping for a drink, and being stiffly turned away, went back the way she came.

Footsteps became clearer through throngs of pedestrians, quickening as she did and melting into the crowd with a glance over her shoulder. Paranoia hit hard and she knew how the mare felt while traveling through canyons where sharp yips echoed. As she and the rest of humanity passed alleyways, there was a particular alley that she edged towards, quickening her steps and finding that the man tailing her had as well. It was a moment come and gone in a blink that a hand reached out and yanked her from the crowd, pulling her into the shadows.

People passed by, the stalker lost in a sea of strangers, and she was grateful for only a moment before she found herself at the mercy of a greater threat. In the dim light she saw a boy standing in front of her, a shock of silver hair glinting and eyes trained on her no differently than those of a coyote with it's victim.

The boy never spoke to her and left her as soon as she'd recovered enough to register the person glaring at her, but the encounter alone was enough to make her flee from The Empire City.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first couple of years she kept correspondences to friends with no return address on her part, all of which had diminished by the time she perched on a barstool in a part of New Mexico that barely touched Texas, and even then she wasn't quite sure where she was. It was the second day she'd stayed anywhere in three years, and since that day she thanked the lord she had.

She stayed for a blanket; her last one was worn to threads from years of hard riding, and she desperately needed a new one. She was trying to persuade a cowboy to give her one over a bottle of beer. He was hard and lean and stubborn as leather, and did not seem to be allured.

_"Letter for you."_ She glanced up to see an older man ambling towards her with a fold of stationery in his hand. He held it out for her to take and she did hesitantly.

_"Thanks."_

_"Sure has got a lota stamps."_ She smiled wanly and agreed, bending her neck to study the postage stamps. The stamps painted a rough map of her journey, and that fact made her wonder who was so invested in finding her.

She slipped a shaking index finger beneath the flap, tearing the envelope open.

_Nadine,_

_I need to talk to you._

_John Bell (1964)_

The message itself was enough to steal her breath in a loud gasp and leave her mind reeling. She looked for a return address and left with a hasty "thanks" to the cowboy without a new blanket.

How long had it been? Longer than five years, six at least and maybe seven. Figures danced through her head while she calculated the dates; eight years. The mare bellowed when she approached, stamping her hoof against the ground and scratching her roan face against a post.

She untied the reigns, swung herself into the saddle, and began a calculated route towards Oklahoma.


	3. Chapter 3

The last known address of her brother was in Tulsa, which was just enough of a city to daunt her. It took a week before she reached the city limits, looking for a stable to board the mare. Ranches seemed few and far between, and she stopped at the first stable she saw; a rickety thing that stood behind a roadhouse with no sign. She tied the mare to a fence that created a small paddock before she dismounted and walked the perimeter of the roadhouse.

She wandered cautiously through what seemed a front door, following voices to a room that branched off to the left. The two story house had been converted into a club of some sort with tables to dodge and a bar that ran the length of the front room.

The voices grew louder as she approached, and the two men she spied sitting at a table hadn't spotted her yet.

"I can't give you more money. Hell, I already give you free room and board." They were two blondes, one that had straw-like hair protruding underneath a cowboy hat and another whose wheat blond hair was sticking up all over as though he had just woken up.

It was when the latter glanced up that she recognized him as the boy she'd known for only a minute. The knowledge alone made her start, wanting to retreat like she had all those years ago. It was obvious that he remembered her, and his eyes clouded over with a calculated glare. It had been dark that night, but she didn't think she could ever forget those arctic eyes that had scared her so badly.

"Buck, you got company." Buck turned, glancing at the girl from head to toe and back again, his gaze finally resting on her face once he'd pried it from her legs. She had cut a pair of worn jeans to make the heat less brutal, and by coincidence the shorts did a fine job of presenting her toned legs.

"What can I getcha, Missy?" Buck asked, not moving from his seat. She stayed where

she was, wavering between leaving or not. She made up her mind, resting a hand on her hip and giving him a cold glare.

"My name isn't 'Missy'."

"Damn. I never said it was. What can I getcha?"

"A place to board a horse. You got stables out back, don't you?" Buck considered this for a moment, and her comment was enough to make the boy snort. She was growing irritated with both of them and wished she hadn't cut off the legs of her jeans.

"Can't really call 'em stables" the boy muttered. Buck reached over to punch his shoulder and the boy took the hit without concern.

"You're free to leave if you're gonna talk shit about my stables" Buck retorted. The boy didn't reply, but clenched his jaw stubbornly. "Yeah I got stables. It's ten a night for boarding."

"I don't have the money" she replied nervously, realizing then that she was in a tricky situation.

"Then what in God's name're you doing wasting my time?" She approached slowly and tentatively, coming to a stop next to his chair. She took a seat carefully, thinking for a moment before speaking.

"Can we make a deal?" Buck lit a cigarette, twirling it around in his hand while he considered the proposition.

"Shoot" Buck allowed, his voiced muffled by the fag that rested on his lower lip.

"I work for you, and you let me board her for free" she answered quickly. This was an old trick, but a steady one. The boy chuckled, a low laugh that gave her noticeable chills.

"Sure. Six o'clock tomorrow morning. Leave the horse in the ring."

She nodded, wasting no time in leaving, with the boy's laugh seared in her brain. It was a low, dangerous chuckle that made her heart race.


	4. Chapter 4

The apartment complex was too clean. She couldn't ever imagine her brother, the living embodiment of a rolling stone, staying overnight in a place that had flower boxes on the windowsills. She took a right at the top of the stairs, hesitating before she rang the doorbell of Apt. 28.

A woman answered the door with a question in her eyes - a bottle blonde with heavily made up eyes, wearing a slip that barely covered her ass. If the blonde was with her brother, it didn't surprise her.

"Can I help you?" The question lingered in the air for a moment.

"Is John Bell here?" she asked. The woman sighed, unlatching the top chain to open the door wider.

"You Nadine?"

"I prefer Scottie." She was allowed inside and offered a cup of coffee. The inside looked far worse than the outside; lights out, curtains drawn, bills tossed in a pile on an armchair, a melancholy atmosphere invading the space.

"You look a lot like him, you know" the blonde - Tracy - said after they got settled at the kitchen table. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting shadows in mold-filled corners.

"Yeah. You're his girlfriend?"

"Fiance. He- he didn't have enough money. For a ring." Tracy's voice shook while she spoke. Scottie heard it, choosing to ignore it and trying not to stare in any particular place for too long. When she allowed herself to think of seeing John it wasn't in his kitchen making small talk with his fiance. There was a heavy air of tragedy that prompted her to ask to see him. Tracy's answer was hardly a whisper.

"Sure."


	5. Chapter 5

She was led through the living room to a dimly lit bedroom where a figure lay in a bed. Blankets created a mountain around him, but his frail body was evident through the layers. Pill bottles sat like soldiers on a bedside table, and John was asleep though it was four in the afternoon. Blue veins splashed across his milky skin, adam's apple bulging against his thin neck.

She watched his every breath, too scared to move further. Tracy had disappeared, perhaps thinking that the news would be best delivered between the two of them.

Her eyes raked across his stubble that had far passed a five o'clock shadow, the cheeks gaunt and sunken, the pale eyelids that hadn't escaped the spiderweb of blue that traveled over his chest and neck.

John hadn't always looked like that. How she wished he would still be the tall man with a grin wide as Texas who aspired to be Gary Cooper. Now dark, sun-stained hair given way to ash-colored, greasy strands that stuck to his forehead. He was twenty-five; he looked forty.

"John." She hated to wake him, but she thought if he worked so hard to see her then he wouldn't mind. He woke up slowly at the sound of her voice, eyes on the ceiling before looking at her. She had moved closer, leaning against a piano bench without the piano to accompany it.

"Scottie" he smiled, and just for a moment it was like he was the same - the same person he used to be. With the grin wide as Texas.

"I got your letter." John chuckled.

"Clearly" he joked. She smiled, taking his hand in hers. Tracy was in the living room, sorting bills into a dignified stack, and with every laugh she went wanted to cry; she hadn't been able to make him sound that happy in a year.

"What happened? John?" John looked at her, to her hair or over her shoulder, but never met her eyes.

"I got cancer. Lung cancer." The news brought tears to her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. She wiped them away with her free hand, looking at him hard and thinking. She was never much for gossip, but even she couldn't escape whispers of Watson and Crick. There were treatments, or there would be soon, and she was prepared to fight the illness.

"Don't cry, Scottie" John begged. His voice had gone, and it was clear to her just how different he was; his voice was thin as paper, only making him seem more hollow. A shell.

"I'm not crying. You heard about it, didn't you? They got treatment."

"Yeah, I heard. It ain't gonna happen, though." His words crushed her spirit, but she bit her lip and glared.

"Why?"

"It's expensive. I ain't gonna leave Tracy in debt. It ain't gonna happen."

"You bastard" she whispered. John looked unaffected, trying to take a deep breath, but was overcome by a horrible cough that had him bent over on the bed, hand to his mouth. She flew around the room, finding a box of tissues and handing him a few. The racket had attracted Tracy, who reached for a cup of water to hand to him and took his tissue. A bloody glob a stark contrast against the crumpled wad of tissues.


End file.
